The freedom is a sequence of wonders,
A squished thought into living intents,
Blueprint of destiny in its picture,
That floats into a chain of events.
The flower does not smell to itself,
Into its own shadow no one can hide,
Neither a wolf would kill for pleasure,
In attempt to survive his freedom is confined.
Captured to ones own liberty,
The man is a killer to his own nature,
Yearn for happiness reveals misery,
A notion of freedom is everyday venture.
Perpetual war between pain and the joy,
Defines a freedom repeating in vain,
Earthly struggle to earn given peace,
That is the truth of magic we aim.